The Cat and The Snake
by dreamersrequiem
Summary: Minerva McGonagall never thought she'd meet anyone who loved him like she did, who felt just as confused and lost when he died.


The room was, as always, extremely neat. Not a single thing was out of place, lost or discarded. Viewing the room, you would never think that its owner was capable of emotional turmoil. Then again, Minerva McGonagall always was good at hiding her true feelings.

Her students rarely saw her smile, her hair was always tied up in a neat bun and everyone knew she was a strict teacher, not to be messed with, not unwilling to take points from her own house and certainly (to the students) not one who could love.

But love had come to her many times, mostly before her years as a professor here. Always fleeting, always over before it had begun.

Except the first time.

He had stolen her heart, taken it as his own.

She could remember the questions.

Always the questions, always seeking knowledge before his years.

By his fourth year he knew more than any seventh year; he always knew more than her. That was what had first attracted her to him, his intelligence.

Now, she sat staring at the photograph.

She should have burnt it long ago. But there had never seemed to be a right time.

When he first came to power, she told herself not to destroy it because he showed him when he was human.

When he killed the Potters, she told herself it showed him before any of that, when he was incapable of murder. (A small part of her brain told her he was never incapable).

When he died at the Battle of Hogwarts, she told herself it was the last remainder of him.

She had not been the last to love him, but she had been the first.

The last had been Bellatrix Black, killed by the mother of the only other Gryffindor she ever knew to love him.

A part of her heart had died with Tom Riddle. Oh, not at the Battle, long before that, shortly after leaving Hogwarts, when he had just...disappeared.

Now, staring at the photo, she couldn't help but wonder how Ginny Weasley (Potter now, but always, in her Head of Houses' head, a Weasley) had felt when Lord Voldemort had fallen at the Battle. Had she, like the Professor, felt a confliction of joy and sadness?

The knock at the door came at a late hour, and she was surprised to see the youngest Weasley standing there in her dressing gown, looking up at the Professor with large, sad eyes.

"Miss Weasley, you should be in bed." Her voice held none of its usual strictness – not even Severus could chide the poor girl after the events of the last year – but instead it was soft and sympathetic. "You should be getting a good night sleep before you return home."

"I...I know Professor Mc...McGonagall but...please. Can I talk to you?"

"Of course." She was slightly shocked at this, and stepped back to let the first year in. Despite the fact that the Head of Houses were 'there' for the children, very few ever took them up on their offer of someone to talk to. It was a fact that never surprised McGonagall, but always saddened her. One of the rare times a pupil had come to her, the year before, she had dismissed him, forcing him to go after the Philosopher's Stone by himself, almost getting him killed in the process. (For years after the guilt would haunt her, and she had, in a way, made up for it with his sons – especially Albus, the sweet child who seemed so scared in the castle)

Ginny stepped awkwardly into the room, gazing around nervously as the Professor indicated towards one of the armchairs by the fire. Within seconds the girl was sipping at a drink of warm milk, and the Professor sat opposite, waiting for her to speak.

"I'm sorry Professor."

"None of it was your fault child."

"No but...but still." A sigh from the girl, and Minerva felt a motherly instinct to wrap her arms around her. "I...I know...some things Professor."

"What sort of things Miss Weasley?"

The girl lifted her eyes then, and she was shocked to see tears there. "He...he told me. About his time at Hogwarts."

She felt something clutch at her heart, and leant forward, knowing immediately who 'he' was. "What did he say?"

"I felt so scared when...when I realised and..." She bit her lip, turning away. "I know I'm...I'm only eleven but..." With that, Minerva reached forward and held the small girl's hand, squeezing gently. "You loved him too, didn't you?" It was the too that made Minerva squeeze her hand, that made her nod slowly.

"He always was a charmer." She muttered, watching the small girl as she looked back at her.

"He was so nice to me." She choked out.

"I know." She nodded, she'd seen the way her brothers picked on her, the way the twins teased her and Ron practically ignored her. It had been the heavy male influence of so many older brothers, and the way they had treated her, that had made her fall so easily under Tom Riddle's spell.

She knew because he had been nice to her, too. Because he had made her feel special, wanted and loved. Because every one else in her house had looked down on her as a book worm, as too smart for her own good. She had always thought she'd have been better suited in Ravenclaw. (Her mind once again drifted to the year before, when she saw how Hermione Granger had been treated by her peers.

Thank Merlin there wasn't a Tom Riddle in their year.

But he had still somehow managed to influence a small first year, still managed to make his presence in the school known.

"Go to bed Ginny. Get some rest. You have a long journey tomorrow."

"OK." The girl nodded, standing and turning towards the door.

"And Miss Weasley, if you ever need to talk..."

The small girl nodded before leaving and McGonagall let out a sigh.

How many others would fall under his spell before this was all over?


End file.
